


losing the fight + showing restraint

by sandpapersnowman



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Awkward Conversations, Caretaking, Carrying, Denial of Feelings, Drinking, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, M/M, Minor Injuries, Neck Kissing, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Talking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22379653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandpapersnowman/pseuds/sandpapersnowman
Summary: Geralt finally gives in when Jaskier sprains his ankle.It'shisfault for wearing ballroom shoes for a three day walk, but Geralt isn't cruel enough to make him walk the remaining two and a half days on a hurt foot.He brings Jaskier up onto Roach in front of him, bracketed between Geralt and his grip on Roach's reins. He says it's so he won't forget Jaskier on the road if he falls, which earns Geralt anextremelyoffended stammer, but he's truthfully more concerned with Jaskier being unable to stay on properly, or being jostled too much.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 32
Kudos: 608





	1. losing the fight

**Author's Note:**

> i wasn't going to put this up until it was finished in full but this first chunk is a little longer than i expected so i'm gonna put it up now instead!
> 
> title from ludo's [Drunken Lament](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/ludo/drunkenlament.html) because every ludo song is a jaskier song

Geralt finally gives in when Jaskier sprains his ankle.

It's _his_ fault for wearing ballroom shoes for a three day walk, but Geralt isn't cruel enough to make him walk the remaining two and a half days on a hurt foot.

He brings Jaskier up onto Roach in front of him, bracketed between Geralt and his grip on Roach's reins. He says it's so he won't forget Jaskier on the road if he falls, which earns Geralt an _extremely_ offended stammer, but he's truthfully more concerned with Jaskier being unable to stay on properly, or being jostled too much.

Jaskier grumbles about _see, this isn't so bad_ and talks out loud about how much faster traveling will be now that Jaskier's earned his place on Geralt's noble steed, but despite the amplified _constant conversation_ , Geralt still has to admit it has advantages; his temperature tolerance is better than humans, but Jaskier is warm against him and he imagines Jaskier is benefiting from it too. They _do_ travel faster, cutting almost three hours off their goal for the day when he and Roach don't have to wait for Jaskier to run beside them.

It also allows Jaskier to sleep, find himself a _nap_ leaning against Geralt's chest, and Geralt hesitates when they reach the small inn they'll be staying at for the night, well ahead of schedule.

In the end, he's sure Jaskier would prefer Geralt waking him and giving him the chance to perform tonight and woo some poor lonely housewife over Geralt carrying him up to bed.

"Jaskier," he says softly. "We're here."

Jaskier stirs and shuffles himself back more firmly into Geralt's chest, but doesn't open his eyes.

A moment passes.

Then another.

"Jaskier."

The man stiffens against his front, finally conscious enough to remember where he is and who he's with.

He jolts forward to separate them and Geralt bites back a complaint about his chest going cold.

"Sorry," Jaskier says quickly. "Sorry, I — I haven't gotten enough sleep," he laughs.

"Well, now you'll be rested enough for whatever trouble you'd like to get into before we leave in the morning," Geralt smirks.

He's finally free to come off of Roach with Jaskier supporting himself again. His boots stir up dust in the dry earth when he lands, which is a pleasant surprise; he'd heard there was supposed to be rain coming through. No mud is good mud, though.

He holds his arms up for Jaskier.

Jaskier looks at him like he's grown a second head.

"Do you want to sit up on Roach all night?"

It's a little awkward and a lot everything he's ever dreamed of to have Geralt carefully bring him back down to the ground. His ankle still hurts, but he can limp on it enough to insist on helping Geralt bring their things up to their room.

(Geralt doesn't let him help.)


	2. showing restraint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i thought this would be 3 parts but its looking more like 4 now?? Oop but hey. Chapter 2...

They have enough pay left from a ghoul hunt two towns back to order a hot meal from the inn and a couple pints of mead, although, once their drinks arrive, Geralt finds it’s actually _Mulsum_ being advertised as mead. He warns Jaskier after his first sip confirms it, but Jaskier shrugs and takes to his drink anyway, as though it’s not a 50-proof wine disguised as mead.

When Jaskier finishes his pint and takes Geralt’s untouched one for himself, his eyes start to roam, and that's Geralt's cue.

"I'm heading up for the night," he announces, one hand stilling Jaskier's mug before he can start in on it. "Don't get yourself in any trouble."

Jaskier rolls his eyes.

"Where's the fun in that?" he asks, rhetorically, surely knowing Geralt would _actually_ kill him for seeking out trouble on purpose. “No, I — I should head up, too,” he says, with one more long drink. “Probably won’t be able to get up the stairs very well on my own, will I?”

Geralt could argue that he would have come back downstairs for him, if he’d called, but Jaskier is already tucking himself against Geralt’s side again. He’s even warmer now, and getting him to the stairs is easy enough, but getting them both _up_ won’t be.

“Hm,” Jaskier hums, considering. “Maybe if you go up a couple steps at a time and then bring me up? That’d work, wouldn’t it?”

Geralt stares at him.

“What?”

Rather than explaining how overcomplicated and time-consuming that would be, Geralt scoops him up with one arm under his knees and the other under his waist, lifting Jaskier up to his chest without even a hitch in his breath.

Jaskier, on the other hand, breathes out an _oh_ that would sound _dreamy_ if Geralt wasn’t sure he was just surprised.

“Hang on.”

Jaskier doesn’t need to be told twice, both arms gladly winding around his neck.

“Forgot you were my big strong witcher,” Jaskier mutters into Geralt’s shoulder.

Geralt has tried a thousand times to correct every ‘my witcher’ and ‘your bard’, but at some point, it’s not worth the effort. Jaskier’s on the wrong side of tipsy and probably couldn’t be reasoned with anyway, so he doesn’t bother.

At the top of the stairs and halfway down the hall, Geralt grunts _get the door_. Jaskier unwinds one hand from around Geralt’s neck to open the door, and winds it right back once Geralt pushes it open.

“Bed?”

Jaskier nods into his collar.

He sets Jaskier down gently on one of the two small beds in the room.

“How’s your ankle?” Geralt asks, taking a pillow from the other bed so Jaskier will be able to prop his foot up.

“Could be worse,” Jaskier says with a dramatic sigh. “Not having to walk on it all day helped a lot.”

“Proper footwear would have helped even more,” Geralt reminds him, but his tone is only teasing.

“What if we’d happened upon a fan?” Jaskier tuts. “I have to look my best.”

Geralt hums in passive agreement as he continues fixing Jaskier’s bed, and…

And suddenly, Jaskier's mouth is pressing soft and hesitant against his, like he's unsure whether or not he wants to kiss Geralt at all.

Geralt pulls back like he’s been burned. 

His lips tingle like they're numb, just barely tacky from Jaskier's drink-sticky mouth on his. He hasn’t pulled very far away, only enough to separate them with enough distance to prevent another kiss if Jaskier tries again, and Jaskier’s breath still brushes over his mouth as warm and nervous as if they haven’t parted at all.

A second passes in silence before Jaskier leans forward again.

Geralt isn’t surprised, this time — he squeezes his hands gently between them to push Jaskier back, put enough chaste distance between them to signal more clearly that this isn’t something that’s happening.

“I warned you about the drinks,” Geralt says. He’s seen Jaskier drink worse than that, but maybe he didn’t eat enough before the alcohol. That could be it.

Jaskier laughs and leans into Geralt’s hands anyway. Geralt feels the buzz of his laugh in his fingertips, Jaskier’s heartbeat right under his palm like a small animal, and Jaskier is looking at him dangerously confident.

“I haven’t had _that_ much,” he scoffs. He licks his lips so shiny that Geralt feels like a stranded man in a desert, willing to chase the mirage _just in case_ it’s real. “I want to kiss you. Can’t I?”

Geralt’s mouth has never been so dry. Where is this coming from? Jaskier may be drunk, but he's not _that_ drunk — Geralt has seen him _that_ drunk, and he’s never resorted to hitting on him.

“I think you want to kiss _someone_ ,” Geralt scoffs back, pushing Jaskier down to the bed. If he can make himself more trouble to chase after than Jaskier’s hurt ankle is worth, the bard will drop whatever odd thought he’s caught himself on.

“No,” Jaskier growls, instead grabbing at Geralt’s arms before he can pull back any further, catching Geralt’s wrists and holding tight. The tone takes Geralt off guard enough that he hovers, allowing Jaskier to halt him.

“‘No’?” Geralt repeats.

Jaskier takes the still moment and yanks at Geralt’s wrists, with just enough unexpected strength to bring Geralt stumbling down over him. His bulk knocks the breath out of both of them, but Jaskier doesn’t skip a beat. 

“I don’t want to kiss _’someone’_ ,” Jaskier pouts, winding _all_ of his limbs around Geralt now, arms around his shoulders and knees coming up to hook around Geralt’s thighs. It’s pleasant, which is… A problem. “I want to kiss a man that’d let me sleep against his chest while we rode off into the sunset.”

Geralt hesitates, and Jaskier’s anaconda grip around him tightens. While the cogs turn, Jaskier nuzzles his face into Geralt's jaw and mouths at it, even nudging as far down his neck as Geralt's fortunately/unfortunately _on_ shirt will allow.

“You’ve been drinking,” Geralt decides.

“That is correct,” Jaskier hums against Geralt’s slow, slow, rising pulse.

“You drank too much,” Geralt decides.

“ _Not_ correct,” Jaskier pouts. Geralt can’t see his expression, but he knows Jaskier’s tones, and he _knows_ there’s a pout on his face. “I’m not _that_ drunk.”

“Then you can wait until you’re in your right mind,” Geralt says sternly. Their position is awkward, where he can’t quite begin to disentangle without leaning too heavily into Jaskier or pressing against him altogether. “Let me go.”

“I’ve already been in my right mind,” Jaskier insists, absolutely not lessening his grip. Jaskier nips at his throat, rougher than Geralt is used to from intimate encounters like this. Rougher than he would have imagined from _Jaskier_ , if his dozens of songs about being a sweet, gentle lover had any say in it.

“When?”

“Every time you look away,” Jaskier sighs. “At the start of every day and end of every night,” he hums, putting a _tune_ to it against his skin, and that’s —

“Jaskier —”

“— When you make the moon too shy to rise —”

This is not a ‘can I interest you in casual sex’ confession.

Geralt is stopping this _now_.

Geralt untangles himself without minding if he elbows or knees Jaskier a little, leaving him on his bed and putting himself a _few_ steps away.

“You’re drunk,” Geralt says again, pointing an accusatory finger in Jaskier’s general direction. “Sleep.”

The air sours. He can’t bring himself to look at Jaskier, but he knows the smile has fallen from his face. 

"I'm sorry,” Jaskier mutters, covering his eyes with one thrown-over arm. “I thought you might — I mean, I thought that I'd...?"

Geralt hears the soft rustle of Jaskier dragging a hand through his hair, and he hears the soft, sub-verbal 'fuck' Jaskier mouths to himself.

"Wanted to get you off," Jaskier says, so soft he's not sure if he _is_ meant to hear it or not. "I'm drunk," Jaskier 'admits', louder, like a lost argument. "Probably won't even remember this in the morning, right?"

Geralt hears shuffling as he turns over and gets himself under a blanket.

"We'll talk about it in the morning," Geralt corrects.

"No, we won't," Jaskier snorts.

"Why wouldn't we?"

"Because I just tried to drunkenly seduce you? Obviously?"

Jaskier poisons the words with sarcasm, but Geralt knows better than that. There's a bitterness coming off him, rejection and disappointment; Jaskier may be drunk, but he's not _that_ drunk.

"We'll talk about it in the morning," Geralt repeats firmly. "Go to sleep."

“Fine.”

“Goodnight.”

Jaskier does not wish him a good night back.


	3. rum in my eyes

In the morning, Geralt wakes to an empty room. Jaskier’s things have already been packed and taken away, and for a brief moment Geralt fears he’s tried to go off alone.

He gets his things together a little quicker than usual, and asks the inn matron if she saw his companion leave this morning.

“Yeah, maybe an hour ago,” she nods. “Picked up some veggies for his horse on the way out, too. Lovely boy.”

Geralt thanks her, both for the information and for the room, and when he passes her a small handful of coin she raises her eyebrows but only says a thanks back.

He’s sure Jaskier _also_ tipped her, but if that garish little bastard tried to escape their upcoming chat by taking Roach before Geralt woke up, he’ll consider it a _sorry for the nearby murder_ tax.

Thankfully, Roach is still there; Jaskier stands with her, whispering something to her like they’re _gossiping_ , and the massive parsnip in his hand already has a couple big bites taken out of it.

It’s not a bad sight. Jaskier, annoying as he can be, has proved a useful enough companion. Folks are put a little more at ease when it’s not _just_ Geralt, and he’s a good extra income when monsters seem to be minding their business and jobs are few and far between. Roach likes him, which is a prerequisite for anyone he spends more than a couple hours around.

“Morning,” Geralt announces his presence.

There’s a split second where Jaskier turns, after being called and before remembering he acted weird the night before, where he’s just beaming at Geralt. For a moment, he’s smiling wide enough to crease the corners of his eyes, looking really, truly thrilled to see Geralt, before he jerks his gaze away and to the ground.

“Morning.”

“You got up early.”

“Mm,” Jaskier hums. “I thought I’d get ready ahead of time since you were so nice last night,” he says, then quickly continues, “Bringing my things up, I mean. You carried all our things upstairs last night. Including me,” he laughs awkwardly. “And since you always complain about taking too long to set out in the mornings, I thought I might get a head start.”

Jaskier presses his lips together as if to physically stop the rambling from slipping out.

“I don’t mind,” Geralt says. He brushes past Jaskier to start loading his couple bags up onto Roach’s hip. “If you delay us too much, that only means you have to run to keep up,” he jokes. He grins to Jaskier as he says it, and Jaskier grins tightly back.

“I suppose so,” Jaskier agrees. His shoulders are a little less tense, and he must think Geralt isn’t going to bring it up again.

Unfortunate.

“So,” Geralt says carefully. “Do you remember what happened last night?”

“I remember that was _not_ mead,” Jaskier laughs nervously.

“It was not mead,” Geralt agrees. “Anything else?”

Jaskier hesitates like he’s going to lie, but he either decides against it or knows that Geralt would be able to smell the dishonesty on him anyway.

“I remember I did some things that were untoward, and you were a gentleman about it,” he continues, “instead of punching my lights out. _Very_ appreciated, by the way,” Jaskier adds.

Geralt ‘hmphs’ with amusement.

Maybe it _was_ intended to be casual sex. Jaskier’s image is steeped in the concept of falling deeply, madly in love at the drop of a hat just as much as it’s stained in stories about one-night-stands and letting his prick get him into trouble.

Maybe the sweet little song is just… A thing he does. Some weird bard instinct to shove as much cheesy romance as possible into a single sloppy fuck.

"Look, I don't know, okay?" Jaskier sighs, desperate to break the silence as Geralt considers things. He kicks a stone into the road. "You didn't have to carry me yesterday, but you did, and it was _nice_ of you." Jaskier aggressively shrugs, as though Geralt should already know what he means. "We already share food, and money, and I'm sure you wouldn't care for _another_ song about what a selfless, sexy hero you are."

"So you wanted to thank me," Geralt says slowly, to clarify. "And you decided the best way to do that would be to lead me into your bed?"

Jaskier's cheeks heat and he busies himself with triple-checking his lute is secure in its carrier.

" _No_ ," he says too quickly. " _Drunk me_ decided that, and now _I_ have to have this conversation with you," he grumbles.

"So you only wanted to sleep together because you were drunk."

"I guess," Jaskier shrugs again, finally loading his single traveling bag up onto Roach's saddle.

"Then it doesn't matter either way," Geralt shrugs back. "We're burning daylight arguing about it."

Jaskier opens his mouth to retort, like he expects to be in trouble or at least to be _scolded_ , but Geralt remains firm at Roach's side.

"Fine," Jaskier agrees half-heartedly.

"Are you okay with being in back?" Geralt asks, subject changed. "We're going through some wilderness and I don't want you on the front line."

Jaskier begins to answer, which is a shame, because it wasn't actually a question. Geralt lifts him onto Roach, this time further back, and he's gotten up on her by the time Jaskier can say anything offended about being manhandled again.

"Hold onto me," Geralt adds, reaching behind himself to pull Jaskier closer. "I don't trust your ankle yet, either."

Jaskier wraps his arms hesitantly around Geralt's waist, and Geralt gives Roach's reins a gentle jump.

They'll make pretty good time today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you are Also pulling your hair out over how dumb geralt is, fear not! next chapter will be jaskier perspective 'how the fuck is geralt this calm'


	4. starving for words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> little while no see! i've been getting my ass kicked by job, vet bills, everything going on globally, and also got smashed over the head with a new special interest (expect multiple jojo fics soon lol), but got around to editing this enough to post!

Does Geralt know?

He must. Geralt knowing, and purposely torturing him like this, is the only explanation.

He'd gotten himself drunk solely to come onto Geralt, maybe even admit to feelings past _I want to taste the back of your throat_ , and instead Geralt had been too much of a _perfect fucking gentleman_ to take advantage of him and put him out of his misery.

He knows the man has better senses than any human. Geralt has explained how he can hear heartbeats, smell fear and deceit, watch someone’s pores fill with sweat long before they notice it themselves; Geralt _has_ to know how he feels. If he can hear and smell how a random monster moves in the brush, how many times did Jaskier think he was getting away with jerking himself off in the same room, safe under the foolish impression that Geralt was probably asleep and he’d be quiet enough anyway?

How many times has he bathed gore off of Geralt and he’s just sat there, probably able to… To sense the vibrations of Jaskier pitching a tent, or something?

Until now, he’s only hoped that Geralt simply doesn’t mind. Jaskier’s never made any suggestions more blatant than, oh, _singing songs_ about how unbelievably fuckable this inhuman man is. ‘Toss a coin to your witcher’, _ha_. Toss a coin to your _bard_ , for spending weeks traveling beside sex itself and having the self control not to actually _do_ anything about it.

Maybe Geralt just prefers living in ignorance. _Yes, the bard I travel with sings suspiciously specific songs that include details about my ‘perky ass’ flexing as I behead something, but that’s just how friends are. He also kissed me and attempted to sleep with me while also singing about how deeply in love with me he is, but that’s probably nothing._

At least Jaskier got to kiss him. Only once, once and a half, but still better than the ‘never, none, only in his dreams’ he’s assumed he’d one day die with.

Got to smell him, too. That’s usually not a positive, considering he’s usually wearing gore for perfume, but all there had been yesterday was the faint remains of scented oils from the bath Jaskier gave him last, and the subtle, slow musk of being in the sun all day, and Geralt’s own blood and silver skin.

Gods, Geralt had _carried_ him, like a bride, without a second thought. No hesitation or strain to pick him up, just scooped him up like a stray kitten and taken him to bed.

It would have been _so romantic_ if Geralt wasn’t so… _Geralt_. And if he’d actually been _taken_ to _bed_ like he’d planned.

Geralt even brought it up in the morning against Jaskier’s insisting it wasn’t necessary, and of course he’s not going to admit to his feelings for Geralt in broad daylight like some kind of… Some kind of non-coward.

New plan, then: he just has to get drunk enough to say something without Geralt knowing he’s drunk. Then he has to proposition Geralt again, while also not breathing so Geralt won’t smell the alcohol in his breath.

_Ha_.

He’s considered that Geralt is simply too polite to ask him to fuck off, but that doesn’t feel right, either. Geralt is blunt about almost everything, _except_ when it comes to _actual_ feelings. Granted, Jaskier doesn’t have a great frame of reference for how Geralt acts around people he’s truly interested in, but he’s seen enough of the opposite. If someone leans too far into his space or gets a bit too smiley, he’ll put more distance between them or flash his teeth their way to remind them he’s dangerous.

And it’s true, yeah, Geralt is dangerous — he’d punched Jaskier in the gut when they met, spends half he words he deigns to give Jaskier saying he should go home instead of risking his life out here, but if Geralt _wanted_ him gone, he would be. Every morning, Geralt wakes up an hour or more before him and all he does is wait and tend to Roach. He could have abandoned Jaskier a thousand times over, and yet he _has not_.

So Geralt doesn’t mind his company. Jaskier is allowed to be around him.

Even this morning, and last night, he never said anything _against_ kissing Jaskier. Only that Jaskier was drunk, so he wasn’t thinking properly. Only softly deflected his kisses, made excuses for why they _shouldn’t_ , not why Geralt _wouldn’t_.

He’d expected to either be immediately rejected and told Geralt has no romantic or sexual interest in him, or to finally be on the glorious receiving end of the thick witcher dick he’s been pining over for so long and have Geralt tell him he doesn’t have any romantic interest after. It would have hurt one way or the other, but at least it’d be in the open.

Instead, Geralt tried to gently talk him out of it. Jaskier has seen this man wrench a sword out of hard, necrotic monster flesh, seen him lift stone and marble and wood easily, and yet the extent of his physical retaliation had only been to put distance between them.

So Geralt isn’t _bothered_ by the idea, then? It could still just be that Jaskier was drunk and he didn’t want to pass judgement before he recovered, but the conversation this morning had been entirely led by what Jaskier was willing to confess to. There was no scolding or scorn.

His ankle aches with every step Roach takes, but he barely notices it when every step also jolts him against Geralt's firm back. Makes him hold tighter around his firm waist, where Geralt's firm abs flex as he supports them both.

_Ugh_.

It’s not like he’s never pined over someone before. He’s been rejected more times than he could count, and he’d remain Geralt’s _friend_ no matter what.

Maybe it’s bothering him so much because the stakes are higher; Geralt isn’t some fair maiden, or bored spouse, or another bard looking to fool around in their downtime. Geralt is _Geralt_. Losing their relationship would mean finding something to do with himself instead of traveling to incredible places and seeing incredible things. It would mean the loss of his muse, having to make excuses for why he no longer travels with the most beautiful, most amazing man in the world.

Jaskier’s cheeks redden and he prays Geralt doesn’t notice it where his face is pressed to his back.

Geralt _is_ his muse. He’s said it as a joke, and to tease Geralt about why he couldn’t possibly find something else to sing about, but thinking it privately to himself is… There’s no audience for that.

Ugh. He knew he had _feelings_ about Geralt, but he didn’t realize it was this gross.

They don't run into any trouble. They don't run into so much as an ear-twitching, head-turning sound, essentially turning their day into a lovely ride in the country. Jaskier spends 5 hours wrapped around Geralt and suffocating in the thick, raw smell of him, mentally arguing with his cock and trying to think about anything other than how nice it’d be to rub himself off where the small of his back meets his stupid, beautiful ass.

_Ugh_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyone's comments have all been so nice and i adore you ALL!! thank you for continuing to read these goofy dudes fumble around their feelings :3 <33


	5. throwin' a party tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> havent updated this in a bit and may not be back for a while! when season 2 comes out, i'll probably get hit with the witcher interest again, but at the moment i am firmly lodged in jjba stuff, lol
> 
> didn't want to abandon this completely or without a word, so i finished up the remainder of what i had and am gonna put it on here! will probably finish this one day, just not in the super near future :'') thank you everyone that's been reading this and enjoying it!! i'm sorry my interests have shifted for a bit, but i know you guys are in good hands with all the other great geraskier fic out there!! <33

Geralt stops them suddenly.

For a second his blood goes cold and he wonders if Geralt has somehow heard his thoughts, but instead, Geralt hops carefully down from Roach’s back.

“What’s wrong?” Jaskier asks quietly, in case it _is_ some kind of danger.

“Nothing,” Geralt replies, pointing up at the tree canopy. “Look.”

Jaskier follows his finger. There’s a tree a little shorter than the rest, only towering a ways above them instead of halfway to the clouds, and even from the ground, Jaskier can see it has some kind of dark round things fruiting from its branches.

“What is it?”

Geralt says nothing, because it’s Geralt, but he does begin to scale up the tree.

He gets about halfway up and breaks a small branch under his foot before Jaskier can make a disbelieving noise.

“Gods, Geralt, be careful,” he yelps. “I know witchers aren’t fall-proof.”

Geralt looks back over his shoulder enough to throw Jaskier a smile, and that shuts him up enough to wait with reddened cheeks until Geralt reaches one of the higher branches.

“Do you think you could catch them?” Geralt calls down.

Jaskier makes a noise of disbelief, but Geralt is entirely serious — a fruit comes down at terminal velocity and Jaskier barely catches it.

“Let me get off Roach first!” he yelps, scrambling down 

It’s…

They’re plums.

Geralt climbed that entire stupid tree for _plums_?

“Plums,” Jaskier says out loud, just in case he’s mis-seeing the fruit in his hands. “ _Plums_ , Geralt?” he yells.

“I thought you said you liked plums,” Geralt not quite _asks_ , but more reminds.

Damn him.

“I do,” Jaskier admits quietly. They’re close to his favorite thing in the world, actually, besides a wine he hasn’t had since he was at the academy, but Geralt wouldn’t remember that, would he? He’d only mentioned it once while they were pretty far from any town, jokingly whining about everything he missed from civilization.

A few more minutes and Geralt has nabbed every plum he can reach, each tossed more gently down for Jaskier to tuck into one of their bags.

“You didn’t need to do all that just to get me some plums,” Jaskier says, once Geralt has finally shimmied (very, very attractively, with his thick thighs showing that tree trunk who’s boss, Gods) back to the ground.

“I didn’t,” Geralt shrugs. “Just felt like plums.”

Jaskier opens his mouth to say… _Something_ , but decides against it.

Whether Geralt intended to risk his life for something so small just because Jaskier _likes_ it or if he really did just _have a craving_ for _plums_ , either way, they take a break from riding to sit and indulge for a bit.

(...And Jaskier _doesn’t_ stare at the way the plum stains Geralt’s mouth.)

**Author's Note:**

> you can also find me on tumblr at [sandpapersnowman](https://sandpapersnowman.tumblr.com/ao3land), at my witcher sideblog, [servicebottomgeralt](https://servicebottomgeralt.tumblr.com)


End file.
